


The Dragon's Fae

by spelledink



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fairy Tale Style, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 10:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17743769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spelledink/pseuds/spelledink
Summary: Miriam Princhek is a lonely girl. One night, she meets a beautiful fae, and it changes both their lives.This story is an episodic romance.





	1. The Magical Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Pronunciation Notes:  
> Áine = “Anya”  
> Caoimhe = “Keeva”  
> Nuala = “Noola”  
> Neasa = “Nessa”  
> Maeve= "Mave"

**_The Dragon’s Fae_ **

**A Devil Wears Prada fanfiction**

**This story is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.**

**The Devil Wears Prada is the property of Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox.**

 

London was not a magical city by any means, especially the East End. Far it was from the glamour of emerald woods and shadowed barrows. The residents were hardworking folk. Prosaic, as is the case when money is lacking. But Miriam Princhek was different.

She loved books, the more fantastic, the better. Adventures, romances, tales of derring-do. They were her friends, her companions. Playmates that filled her mind with joy and wonder. Allowing her mind to roam free where her body could not. Away from her reality. Of a mother departed, and a father grown cold.

Miriam loved fairy tales best of all. She loved the stories of helpful, clever fairies helping the plucky heroine. At times, she imagined herself in such a tale, having a such a wonderful companion. Not to find a prince, for Miriam needed no savior, no knight in shining armor. No, all she wanted was a friend. Someone who would see her. Understand her. Relieve the pang of loneliness that echoed in her heart.

Oh, and the clothes! The shimmering gowns of rarest silk and buttery velvet in each tale. So wonderful, to think of wearing something so fine against her skin. Such bliss! She wished Madame Fortier would teach her to make such beautiful things. Miriam had to admit, she loved sewing. Creating or repairing garments with the magic of needle and thread. Learning at the little dress shop was a blessing, in her eyes. How she wished she could learn to make her own clothes, even design!

She still wished for a friend. Someone she could talk to, confide in. Share the secrets of her fourteen-year old heart. Miriam sighed, setting down the book she was reading. Placing it on the kitchen table. Father was out at the pub. Grandmother upstairs, seeing to the little ones. She pushed open the back door of their house, wandering out into the garden.

The night was dark, the moon a silver disc on the horizon, half-obscured by ragged gray clouds. Crickets chirped in the soft grass underfoot. The scent of flowers perfumed the air. Primroses, peonies, columbine and lavender. A feeling of warmth, of comfort lay in the tiny space. This had been her mother’s garden. Her refuge from the world. From the cares of running a house and raising children.

Miriam sighed. It was still beautiful, still welcoming. Even though the woman who’d planted it was long gone. Miriam had taken over caring for it, as best she could. Weeding, watering, and replanting as needed. Feeling a connection, a bond with the mother she’d lost, each time she worked the neglected beds.

Miriam knelt in the warm grass, letting out a cleansing breath. Allowing the peace of the garden to flow into her. She stared up, watching stars sparkle overhead, in the deep indigo sky. A flash streaked across hazy moon. A shooting star. A meteor, Miriam remembered, correcting herself. A brief trail of fire following it as it fell to earth. She held her breath. “I wish…” she whispered. “I wish I wasn’t so alone.” A tear fell down her cheek, hot upon her skin. Glittering in the moonlight.

Like sudden music, a voice echoed in her thoughts. Welling up from deep within. A melodious alto. Warm, kind. “Is that what you want?” the voice said. “Yes,” whispered Miriam. “Oh, yes, please.” A delighted laugh tinkled in the young girl’s mind. “Very well,” the voice said. “Repeat the charm, sweet one, and the bond will be set.”

A flare of music, like the fluttering of bird’s wings, flashed through Miriam’s mind. The words tumbled from her lips, faltering at first, then strong. Piercing through the veil of night, to some place far beyond. Years and miles from the little garden where Miriam knelt.

Daughter of the elder weald.

Child of shadow, mist, and moon.

Heed our pact, our bargain sealed.

Hasten now, and grant my boon. 

“It's done, sweet one,” said the voice. A wild breeze tore through the garden, scattering leaves and flower petals in its wake. In front of Miriam, by a stand of honeysuckle, a point of silver light appeared. It grew, pulsing as it did, taking form. The body of a woman, a _fae_ , appearing.

Miriam held her breath, transfixed.

_She’s beautiful._

Her eyes wandered the visitor’s form, her heart pounding. A strange ache deep within her. The fae stood, bathed in moonlight. Clad in a gown of golden silk, gossamer wings upon her back. Her skin pale, a blush of pink at her lips and cheeks. Her long auburn hair crowned with blooms of yellow cowslip and white hawthorn. Warm chocolate eyes peered at the young girl, a gentle smile upon her face.

The woman stepped towards Miriam, kneeling down upon the grass. “Hello,” she said. Miriam blushed, ducking her head. “Hi,” she said. “I’m… I’m Miriam.” The brunette chuckled, her laugh like tinkling bells. “I know,” she said.

Miriam looked at the brunette. Why… why are you here?” she asked. “Why show yourself to me?” The brunette’s eyes sparkled. “Because you asked,” she said. “Because you were lonely, and wanted a friend.”

Miriam nodded, her face pensive. “What do I call you?” she asked. “I mean, what is your name?” The fae chuckled. “Áine,” she said, her voice a soft burr.  Miriam grimaced, shaking her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Can you say it again, please?”

Áine chuckled. “You say it like this… Anya,” she said. “It means light, or radiance.” Miriam tested the name on her lips. “Áine,” she said. “It’s… it’s a beautiful name. It fits you.” The brunette grinned. “Why, thank you,” she said. Miriam bit her lower lip, apprehensive. “What… what exactly are you, Áine?” she asked.

The brunette gestured at the space around them. “I’m a wood fairy, a fae of the sylvan court,” she replied. “We tend the things of earth and root, leaf and flower. In the old forests, beneath boughs of birch and beech, yew and elder. Or gardens like this. Ones well-loved, and kept with care.”

“This was my mother’s place,” said Miriam, her voice soft. “I… I try to keep it nice, the way she would’ve.” Áine nodded, her eyes warm. “You kept it alive. Like the memories in your heart, of her,” she murmured. Miriam’s breath caught, her face crumpling. “I miss her,” she whispered, her voice quavering. “I miss her so much!” She threw herself into the brunette’s arms, a low despairing cry in her chest. Tears streaming down her face.

Áine cradled the crying girl, fingers carding through her cinnamon hair. Holding her close, crooning a soft lullaby. Low, and lilting, in a language Miriam could not understand. “Shh, sweet one,” the brunette said. “Remember, we’re never truly parted from those we love. They live on in our hearts, and memories, until we meet again in the Summer Lands.”

Miriam looked up, meeting the fae’s eyes, brushing the tears from her cheeks. “Thank you, Áine,” she said. “It’s been… hard since she died. To be here, like this. Feeling so lost, so alone. Like I had no friends, no one to turn to.”

Áine cupped Miriam’s cheek, gentle fingertips stroking. “You do now,” she said. “I promise. Whenever you need me most, I’ll be there.” Miriam leaned into the fae’s touch. “Thank you,” she breathed. “It seems so long since someone’s noticed, or cared.”

Áine’s eyes darkened. “What of your father?” she asked. Miriam shook her head. “He’s… lost himself,” she said. “He doesn't talk, or work anymore. All he does is drink.” The brunette grimaced. “And you?” she asked. “How do you survive, if he doesn’t work?” Miriam shrugged. “My grandmother helps,” she said. “She moved in, to take care of the little ones. But she doesn’t have much time for me.”

Áine pursed her lips, her eyes thoughtful. “How do you make money, if your father doesn’t work?” she asked. Miriam looked away. “We’ve been using mother’s savings,” she said. “And grandmother helps, cleaning for some of the neighbors.” Áine’s eyes pierced the redhead. “Is that all?” she queried. Miriam fidgeted. “I help out,” she said. “I make a little money sewing for Madame Fortier.”

Áine glared at Miriam. “What about your schooling?” she asked. “I get by,” Miriam said. “Besides, I like clothes and fashion.” A shy smile lit the girl’s face. “You wouldn’t believe the beautiful dresses Madame Fortier makes for her customers!”

Áine smiled. “You should see what a Seelie dressmaker can do,” she said, eyes sparkling. “But tonight, we have fun!” Miriam raised her eyebrows. “Fun?” she asked. “Yes,” replied Áine. “Isn’t that what friends do together?” The smile on Miriam’s face grew. “Friends,” she said, her voice wistful. “But… but what do fae do for fun?” Áine let out a nickering laugh. “Dance!” she cried.

Miriam’s smile fell. “Oh… I don’t know how,” she said. Áine rose, pulling the redhead to her feet. “Then I will teach you,” she said. “Who better than a fae, to do that?” Miriam looked at Áine, her gaze quizzical. “But what about music?” she asked. Áine smiled. She leaned close, whispering into the young girl’s ear. “The only music you’ll need, sweet one, is that within your heart,” she said.

Miriam gazed up, looking deep into Áine’s eyes. Seeing in them only kindness and understanding. The fae waved one hand. The house and garden faded away. The East End and London too. Only the moon and stars remained, high above. They stood in a clearing. Around them fairy rings of toadstool and grass. Mist-covered trees beyond, like ghostly sentinels. A swell of music rose about them, as from the ground. Notes washing over them. Deep as the earth’s bones, and high as heaven’s firmament.

Áine smiled. She placed one hand on Miriam’s hip, taking her hand with the other. Their eyes locked together, cobalt and chocolate. Áine smiled at Miriam, then led her into the dance. Moving, turning, spinning apart. Until it seemed to Miriam that she was floating on air, bathed in starlight and moonbeams. Drunk on Áine’s warmth, and the light in her eyes. Forgetting everything, as her cares fell away. Lost in music, dancing, and her beautiful partner.

So, night after night, they met. The lonely girl and dark eyed fae. Drawn together, as the stars flared into life overhead. The little garden a refuge, a sanctuary. A place of peace and joy. And slowly, ever so slowly, Miriam healed. A moonflower, blooming under Áine’s care. The magic of a heart made full, no longer alone.


	2. Love's First Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriam's first love, and heartbreak.

Years passed, and Miriam grew older. Into a beautiful, confident young woman. Her younger days, filled with loneliness, had passed her by.  As did her need for Áine. Little by little, her adventures with the fae faded into memory. And if Miriam thought of her at all, it was as a far-off dream of beauty, wonder, and yearning for love. A fantasy of youth. Which, of course, was just what Áine had planned. 

Miriam sat in the garden, waiting. Wearing a blue chambray wrap skirt and white blouse. She clutched her sketchbook to her chest. The brown cover closed with a yellow silk ribbon. Inside lay her dream. Dresses, skirts, blouses. Each one her own design, lovingly draped over her model. The person she waited for now. Miriam opened the book. Fingers trailing over familiar features as she gazed upon each page, a tender smile upon her face. 

My friend. My best friend. 

 _Alice._  

Miriam wondered when it was that things had changed. When friendship and fun had turned into desire. A need for… more. When her eyes had started to linger too long on her. Noticing ripe lips, long coltish legs. The swell of her breast against the straining fabric of her blouse. 

“I wonder when it was, I fell in love?” she whispered, glancing at the sketches. 

Miriam glanced at her wristwatch, wishing the hands would move faster. She smoothed out the blanket beneath her, checking the basket of food at her side. Tea sandwiches, scones with clotted cream, and pistachio cakes. A bevy of delights, prepared with care, waiting beneath a blue gingham towel.

 Today was perfect for a picnic.  The rest of the family was on holiday in Brighton, and wouldn’t be back until morning. A rusty hinge swung open behind her. Miriam turned, meeting the eyes of her guest. Alice Bellamy. Clad in a green tartan skirt, and black cashmere sweater. 

Alice smiled, combing honey-blonde hair out of her eyes. Hazel eyes sparkling as they met Miriam’s. “Hello, Miri,” she said. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting?” Miriam shook her head. “No, in fact, you’re a bit early,” she said. “Not that I mind at all. I’m glad you’re here.” 

“What’s all this?” asked Alice, sitting down on the blanket beside Miriam. She pointed to the basket and dishware that lay beside it. Miriam grinned. “I heard you got a reply to your University application,” she replied. “I thought we’d celebrate the good news.” 

Alice chuckled. “How do you know it’s good news?” she asked. “I can feel it,” Miriam answered. “You’ve been working so hard to get into the College of Fashion. I know you’re going to make it!” Alice sighed. “I wish you had applied with me, Miri,” she said. “Your designs are beautiful. Your portfolio is so much better than mine.” 

Miriam shrugged. “I can’t afford the tuition,” she said. “But I’ve applied for a position at Jean Muir’s design house. It’s only an assistant job, but I hope I can get it.” Alice nodded. “I know you’ll be able to,” she said. “Once you put your mind to something, there’s no stopping you!” 

Alice reached into her purse, pulling out a thick envelope. She weighed it in her hand, her face anxious. “Do we look?” she asked, a nervous tremor in her voice. “Yes, let’s,” replied Miriam. The blonde blushed, grabbing Miriam’s hand. “Well, c’mon already,” urged Miriam. “Open it!” 

Alice grinned, and slit open the envelope. She pulled out a letter, and began to read. “Dear Ms. Bellamy,” she said. “Congratulations! Welcome to the London College of Fashion, for the upcoming Fall term.” Alice stared at the letter clutched in her hand, astonished. Miriam grinned, sweeping her friend into a tight hug. “You did it!” she said. “You got in! I knew it, I knew it!” Alice gazed at Miriam, a slow smile warming her face. “I did it,” she whispered. “Oh, my god, I can’t believe it!” 

Miriam winked at Alice, holding a finger to her lips. “This calls for something special,” she said. She reached into the basket, retrieving a bottle of sparkling wine. “Not the best. But, not bad, either,” Miriam said. “One of my friends at work got it for me.” Alice blushed. “You didn’t have to do all this, Miri,” she said. Miriam shook her head. “Yes, I did,” she replied. “You deserve it.” She pulled the wrapper from the bottle and popped the cork. Smiling, she filled two glasses, handing one to her friend. 

Miriam clinked their glasses together. They drank, smiling as they savored the light, bubbly wine. “Thank you, Miri,” said Alice, her voice soft. She leaned against Miriam, her hair trailing over the redhead’s shoulder, in a wash of gold. Her breath warm against the other girl’s collarbone. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said. “You’ve always been there for me, all these years in school.” 

The redhead smiled. “It was never any bother,” she said. “It always made me… happy. Being there, with you.” Alice reached out, taking Miriam’s hand in hers, their fingers tangling together. They sat together. Eating, smiling, and laughing. Watching the shadows lengthen in the back yard. As the cloud streaked sky turned from gold, to bronze, to indigo. Until the stars woke in deepening twilight. 

Alice slipped one arm around Miriam’s waist, moving close. Looking up at her friend, a gentle blush dusting her cheeks. “I’m glad,” she said. “I’m glad I’m here, with you.” The redhead looked at her friend, her heart swelling inside. 

 _I have to tell her. I have to let her know._  

Miriam closed the distance between them, pressing a soft kiss against Alice’s lips. The blonde stiffened, pushing her away. “What are you doing?” Alice said, her eyes wide. “Why did you kk… kiss me?” She scrambled to her feet, backing away from Miriam. Miriam rose, facing the blonde. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just…. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to show you...” The blonde frowned. “Show me?” she asked, confused. Miriam nodded. “My feelings,” she said. “About you.” 

The blonde stared at Miriam. “What do you mean?” she said. “I love you,” said Miriam, stepping towards her friend. “I… I’m in love with you, Alice.” The blonde shook her head. “No, you can’t be, Miri,” she said, shooting her friend a panicked look. “You’re a girl, like me. We… we can’t be like that!” 

Miriam grasped Alice’s hand, cobalt eyes fixed on hazel. “Why not?” she asked. “Does it matter?” Alice turned away. A hot blush rising from her breast, covering her face. “Is this what you’ve wanted from me, all this time?” she asked. “All the nights we’ve spent together?” 

Miriam shook her head. “I… I can’t answer that,” she said. The blonde glared at Miriam. “Try,” she said, her voice hard. Miriam took Alice’s hands, tugging the blonde towards her. “I can’t say when it started,” she said. “But now… I can’t imagine life without you.” 

Alice stood silent, her forehead creased with worry. Staring at the ground. “Alice won’t you say something?” Miriam said, her voice cracking. “Answer me, please. I… I don’t know what to do.” Hazel eyes rose, meeting Miriam’s. “How could you do this to me?” the blonde said, her voice thick with anger. “It’s sick. Feeling that way, all this time. Wanting me, like that. I thought… I thought you were my friend, Miriam!” Alice pushed the redhead away, turning towards the gate. 

Miriam followed, reaching out, her voice desperate. “I am your friend!” she cried. “But… I fell in love. I fell in love with you, Alice. Is that so horrible?” Alice turned, ice in her eyes. “It is to me,” she said. She wheeled, retreating towards the garden gate. Her steps fading into the distance, down the cobblestones. 

Miriam fell to her knees, a cry of anguish tearing from her throat. She crumpled to the ground, overcome. A broken doll amidst the picnic’s ruin. Sobbing, until she could no more, falling into welcome darkness.


	3. Love Goes On

Miriam awoke, the scent of dog roses and honeysuckle all around. Gentle fingers playing in her hair. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking wide, to a familiar face, half-forgotten. A face from a dream. A memory of music and laughter. Of dancing under the stars, her heart in flight.  One of safety, comfort, and deep joy.

_Áine._

The fae smiled, carving dimples on her cheeks. Miriam lay on the cool grass, her head in the fae’s lap. No sight or sound of city near. Only trees. Everywhere, trees. Oak and alder, beech and elder. The moon a silver lantern overhead, washing the forest in ethereal light.

Miriam bolted up, staring at the brunette. “You’re here,” she said. “You’re real, not a dream.” Áine nodded, winking at the redhead. “As real as I ever was,” she said. “I told you, if ever you needed me, I’d come.” Miriam lunged at Áine, wrapping her in a tight hug. Her head bowed, forehead pressed to the fae’s throat. “I do,” she whimpered. “I do need you.”

Áine raised Miriam’s chin, meeting the redhead’s eyes. “I know,” she said. “I heard your call, sweet one.” Miriam’s breath caught. Tears began to fall, her shoulders trembling. “Why Áine, why did Alice leave?” she asked. “Why did she do that?”

The fae sighed. “Perhaps she did not know her heart, or knew it all too well,” Áine said. “What do you mean?” asked Miriam, eyes curious. Áine shook her head. “For years you were together, closer than sisters, in all but blood,” she said. “Then to see your love?” The fae shook her head. “It was fear that drove her away. Fear of being shamed. Fear of being different. Fear of loving you back.”

“She didn’t even try,” whispered Miriam, leaning into the fae’s warmth. “Why?” she asked. “Why wouldn’t she listen to me?” Áine shrugged. “Perhaps it was too much for her,” she said. “To love you one way, then realize you wanted more.” Miriam closed her eyes, grief-stricken. “So, it’s my fault everything’s wrecked,” she said.

The fae shook her head. “No, sweet one. It’s never wrong to love,” she said. “Never. What’s wrong is denying your heart, no matter who it beats for.” Miriam shook her head, eyes bleak. “I’m such an idiot,” she said, her voice rough. “What good is love, when all it does is hurt?”

Áine smiled, her voice wistful. “Love _is_ good. One day you’ll find someone, and you’ll know. And you’ll want to sing and laugh, and cry. Because she’s the light you’ve been waiting for, longing for, all this time. And you’ll never want to part.” The fae pressed her lips to Miriam’s hair. “That’s the thing we hope for, pray for, each time we dare to love. Why we mend our broken hearts to try again.”

“I won’t,” Miriam whispered. “Never again.” Áine rocked the redhead, humming a low tune. “You will,” she said. “Because a life without love is no life at all.” Miriam turned away, her eyes locked on the ground below her.

“Come,” said Áine, her voice kind. “Take my hand.” The fae rose, silk rustling about her long legs. She held out her hand to Miriam, pink lips curving in a smile. Blue eyes searched the brunette’s face, curious. “What?” Miriam asked. “Walk with me,” Áine answered. Miriam stretched out her hand, her fingers twining together with the fae’s.  Áine pulled the redhead to her feet, chocolate eyes full of warmth.

Áine led Miriam deeper into the forest. The mist at their feet began to thicken as they walked, a gentle sound growing up ahead. The sound of water lapping on a shore. The trees parted, revealing a dark lake. The surface calm, dappled with silver moonlight. Miriam gaped, spellbound. “It’s beautiful,” she said. Fireflies played above the water’s surface, flashes of gold within the shadows. Áine hummed, a bright smile upon her face. “Let me show you something,” she said.

Áine paused at the water’s edge. Her right hand raised, fingers splayed towards the ebon sky. A name fell from her lips. “Nuala!” she cried, wild joy flaring in her eyes. Silver light flashed from her hand, piercing the dark that lay beyond the shore.

A high, clear note rang across the lake. Like a bell, pealing over its depths. A cry, high above, bright with recognition. A low, soft sound echoing as it drew near. The heavy beat of wings approaching.

It burst from the shadows. A pale ghost, clad in downy raiment, white as snow. Great wings spread wide as it landed, settling upon the lake. Bubbles and foam spreading in its wake. Her long neck held aloft, proud. Dark eyes falling upon Miriam as she approached. The redhead gasped, her eyes bright with wonder.

_Nuala._

A great swan, large as a destrier. Gliding to Áine’s side. They leaned close in greeting, cheeks brushing. A bright whistle escaped the creature’s throat. “Hello, dear sister,” Áine breathed, her voice warm. “How fare you this evening?” Nuala cocked her head, letting out an inquisitive chirp. The fae smiled, turning to Miriam. “This, is Nuala,” she said. “Noble child of air and grove. Beloved of Caoimhe, golden laughter’s child.” Miriam’s eyes widened. “Sister?” she asked.

Áine nodded. “Bespelled, she is, in this form. Cursed by the jealous witch, Neasa.”  Miriam’s eyes grew wide. “Cursed?” she asked. Áine nodded. “Aye,” she said. “Neasa wanted Caoimhe. To own her, to bind her. As a possession, a trinket of rare beauty. But Caoimhe rejected Neasa, wanting only Nuala, her heart’s own home.”

Miriam looked over at the great swan, her voice soft. “What happened?” she breathed. Áine shrugged. “Neasa cursed both maids,” she said. “Trapped them in this form, forevermore, unless one forsook the other.” Miriam shook her head. “That’s horrible!” she said.

Áine sighed. “Yes,” she said. “And so, they’ve been, for five hundred mortal years. Only on Beltaine eve does the curse lift. One night alone in all the year. Only then may they live, and love, as was their right.”

Miriam stared at Nuala, her eyes shimmering with tears. “How can they do it?” she asked. “How can they bear to be apart?” Áine pulled the redhead to her breast, holding her close. She whispered into her ear. “Don’t you know, sweet one?” she said. “Swans mate for life.”

Nuala fluttered her wings, dark eyes cast towards Miriam. “Nuala bids you welcome,” said Áine. “And comes with a gift.” The redhead gazed at the swan in wonder. “A gift?” she asked. Áine grinned, gesturing towards the clouds above. “To dance upon the wind’s breath. To feel the light of moon and star, and cast away all darkness.”

Miriam took Áine’s hand. She faced Nuala, heart struck with sudden longing. Trembling, an ache within her breast. Captive before this strange beauty. Miriam bowed, her eyes never leaving Nuala’s. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Mount, and ride,” urged Áine. “Come away, and leave the careworn world behind.” Miriam slipped the shoes from her feet, nearing cursed fae. She threw a leg over the swan’s back, surprised at the strength she felt beneath. Her fingers dove into the warmth of Nuala’s feathers, a smile growing on her face. Áine settled behind her, strong arms winding about Miriam’s waist. Her breasts a soft cushion at the redhead’s back.

Nuala surged forward across the lake.  Gaining speed, with each beat of her wings. Leaving the surface, climbing high. Like a bolt shot into the heavens. Her course set towards the moon. It’s light glowing argent over the pale creature’s frame.

Nuala burst through the low hanging clouds, the stars a tapestry of diamonds overhead. The forest below dark, shrouded in wisps of gray. “Beautiful,” breathed Miriam. She turned, meeting Áine’s eyes, a blush painting her cheeks. The wind fluttered through her hair, as Nuala banked. Setting it free, a nimbus of flame about her face. Áine leaned in towards Miriam, gazing at her friend. “Yes,” she said. “Beautiful.”

Miriam settled back against Áine, cinnamon hair tickling the fae’s throat. Áine tightened her arms around the younger woman.  Brushing her lips against the shell of the redhead’s ear. “Never forget, there’s beauty still, in the world,” she whispered. “Wonder and magic, too. Like love. There, waiting for you, if you’d but notice.”

Miriam sighed, her eyes darkening. “If only,” she said. Áine hugged the redhead close, her breath warm on the young woman’s neck. “The heart’s not a well, that runs dry,” she said. “Ever and again it can love, deep and true.”

Nuala climbed into the starlit sky, wisps of cloud like silver ribbons about her wings. She gave a cry, sweet and piercing. An echoing call answered. A winged shape emerged from the shadows, pale ivory beneath the moon.

_Caoimhe_

“Hold on,” Áine said. Miriam leant forward, hugging Nuala’s neck. The brunette pressed into her, the wind whistling through their hair. The cursed lovers passed, flashing by each other. Meeting in a wide, arcing turn.  Coming together, wingtip to wingtip, spiraling upward. Weaving together, in a dance of yearning and devotion. Like leaves upon the wind, fluttering high, then falling low again.

Miriam clutched Nuala, her head bowed, tears washing her face. “It isn’t fair,” she whispered. “It isn’t fair. They should be together.” Áine held Miriam, lips warm against her cheek. “They are,” she said. “They are.” Miriam shook her head, her voice raw. “Like this?” she said. “How is that right?”

“Love is more than just our flesh. More than any word, or touch, or kiss alone,” Áine said. “It’s the best part of us, the part that lives on, when all else is dust. The thing by which we touch eternity. The light of our very souls.”

“But the curse…” Miriam said.

“The curse will die, as all things do,” Áine said. “Nuala and Caoimhe know this. That one day they’ll meet again, and love again. On this shore, or in the Summer Lands.” Miriam shook her head. “How can that be?” she asked.

“All things end, sweet one,” Áine replied. “Even the stars themselves. But love, love goes on.” She held the redhead close as they flew, the stars wheeling overhead. The beat of Miriam’s heart close to her own.


	4. Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miriam and Áine fall for each other.

The evening was chill in Victoria park. A young woman with russet hair leaned against the trunk of an oak. She pulled her black Givenchy overcoat closer, shivering. The last pink streaks of sunset fading overhead as the stars appeared.

“Where are you?” the woman whispered. “Please answer me. I need to see you.” The scent of honeysuckle lingered in the air, the last trace of summer. Fall whispered on the wind, green leaves fading to red and gold. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much, Áine.”

A gentle wind rustled through the tree’s branches. A hush falling around the woman. No sound of street or car. The lights of the city falling away. Pathways and park benches banished. Leaving only oak and alder, buckthorn and ash. A familiar voice sounded behind the woman. “As I’ve missed you, Miriam,” the voice husked.

_Áine._

“Where have you been?” the redhead asked, nearing the fae. Her voice trembling. “I’ve looked and looked. You’ve been gone, so very long.” The brunette sighed. “I’m sorry Miriam,” Áine said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you."

“Why?” the younger woman demanded. “I thought you’d never leave. That you’d always be there, by my side.” Áine backed away. “I had to,” said Áine. “You’re grown now, a woman. You don’t need me.”  Miriam grasped the fae’s hand, her face torn with passion. “I’ll always need you!” she cried, her voice raw. Áine looked at her friend, tears welling in her eyes.

_As I need you._

The brunette broke free of Miriam, her eyes upon the sleeping garden. “I didn’t want to stay away,” Áine said. “Not for so long.”

“Then why?” Miriam asked. Áine threw up her hands, her expression torn. “It’s… it’s dangerous, when fae and mortal get too close,” she said, looking away. “I don’t care about that!” Miriam said, shaking her head.

“You should,” Áine replied, chocolate eyes pained. “Never,” Miriam said, her voice a tender whisper. “I’ll never regret a single moment spent with you.”

Áine met the redhead’s eyes. “We shouldn’t do this…we shouldn’t talk like this, Miriam,” she said, her voice rough. She turned away, suddenly weary. “I… I should go. Before I say something, do something I shouldn’t…”

 “Áine, don’t walk away!” Miriam said, her voice anguished. “Not again. Don’t you understand what that did to me? How I felt inside?”

“How?” asked Áine, her voice low. “Like everything good had gone away,” Miriam whispered. “Like my heart had stopped, within my chest. Refusing to beat, without you near. And all I wanted, all I needed, all I wished and prayed for was one thing.”

“What?” asked Áine, turning to Miriam. “For you to come back to me,” the redhead said.

Áine shook her head, backing away from Miriam. “I can’t be what you want me to be, Miriam,” she said. “It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be right. We can’t do this…”

“Why not?” asked Miriam. “I know you feel something, too. I can see it in your eyes. I hear it in your breath, each time we touch.” “Miriam…” began Áine.  “Do you think so little of me?” the redhead asked. “Do you see me as only a child?” “No, no I don’t,” Áine said, her voice husky. “You’re beautiful. A beautiful woman.”

“Thank you,” Miriam whispered in reply. “That’s what I want. For you to see me. To know how I feel.”

“Why tell me this?” asked Áine. “Why now?” Miriam stepped closer to the fae. “It’s time, that’s all,” she replied. “I couldn’t leave this buried in my heart. Not anymore. Not when I’m leaving…”

Áine sucked in a quick breath, “Leaving?” she asked, a sudden hurt in her eyes. “I’m going to Paris,” said Miriam. “I’ve got a job at a magazine. A fashion magazine.” Áine looked down, her eyes upon the grass. “It’s what you’ve always wanted…” she murmured.

Miriam stepped close to Áine. “No, it’s not. It’s not what I want,” she said. Her voice hesitant. “That’s why it’s been so hard, being apart from you. Why I couldn’t leave. I had to see you. I had to tell you. Tell you the truth.”

“What?” asked Áine, dark eyes curious. “I love you,” Miriam said, her hands rising, combing through the brunette’s hair. “I love you, Áine. No matter where I go, or what I do, I’ll only want you beside me. So please, please don’t leave me again.”

A hushed cry fell from Áine’s lips. She pulled Miriam close. Breathing her in. The warmth of her skin, her lilac scented hair. This mortal girl, so beautiful, here, in her arms. Her lips so close, eyes bright with passion. Eyes that burned for Áine alone.

_Miriam._

_Sweet one._

_Has it always been like this? Is this what I’ve waited for, longed for, all these years?_

“How?” Áine asked, her voice hoarse. “How did this happen?”

Miriam leaned against Áine, her forehead against the brunette’s. “It was so simple,” she said. “Little by little, it grew within me. This feeling. Over all the nights we shared. Dancing, singing, laughing. Holding hands as we walked beneath the stars. Talking about nothing, and everything. Filling me, until I wanted nothing more. Nothing but you. One more touch, one more smile, one more glance.”

“You love me?” Áine asked.

The redhead nodded. She wound her arms about the fae. “It’s you, Áine,” she breathed, eyes radiant. “You. My friend. My home. My heart. My deepest joy, in all this world, and all I’ll want, hereafter.”

Áine leaned forward, catching Miriam’s lips with her own. The redhead moaned, allowing the fae to deepen the kiss. Áine held the younger woman close, tongue-tip exploring, circling Miriam’s. A hot flush of need shuddering through her.

_Yes. Why did I ever wait?_

Áine waved one hand, emerald light streaming from her fingers. Around them the scenery changed, open wood morphing into a secluded bower. Soft grass beneath, within a thicket of hawthorn and gorse. Warm, secluded. A bedchamber fit for a sylvan queen.

Áine stripped the redhead of her coat, plucking it from her shoulders. Her hands rose to Miriam’s, cupping her cheeks. She leaned forward, brushing her lips against the redheads. “Do you want this, sweet one?” she said, chocolate eyes vulnerable. “Yes,” whispered Miriam, a fierce blush upon her face. “Always, Áine. Always you.”

Áine leaned her forehead against Miriam’s. “As I choose you, love,” she said. “Whatever fate or peril lies before us.” Miriam took Áine’s hands, kissing them. “I don’t care about fate, or any other thing,” she said, cobalt eyes glowing. “All I want is you. To have you, to hold you, to love you.” Áine gazed at Miriam, skin tingling with want. “Then love me, sweet one,” she breathed. “As I give mine to you.”

Áine loosened the straps of her glittering sheath, letting it fall. Revealing sheer garments beneath. Tracing curves of breast and hip. White, filmy, a delicate pattern of flowers and vines winding over them. Hinting at hidden delights.

Áine lowered the redhead to the ground, laying her upon soft grass. Coming to rest beside her. Her mouth continued its exploration, tracing the pale expanse of Miriam’s throat. The fae moved lower. Nimble fingers undoing the mortal’s blouse. Revealing her breasts, straining against the delicate silk housing them. Áine chuckled, her voice rich with desire. She unhooked the lacy white bra, letting it fall open, revealing Miriam. Ivory skin pink with arousal. Nipples stiff, begging for attention.

_Yes._

Áine bent down, her tongue circling each rosy peak. Sucking them higher with her lips. She looked up, chocolate eyes smiling at her young lover. The brunette brushed her lips down Miriam’s ribcage, nipping at her belly. She knelt, slipping the pumps from Miriam’s feet.

Áine opened Miriam’s slacks, easing them down. She stared, eyes full of the beauty that lay before her. Her fingers fell to the redhead’s hips, hooking over lacy briefs. Áine looked at her lover, eyes awaiting permission. Miriam bit her lower lip, nodding. “Yes,” she breathed. “Please, Áine, I… I need you.” The brunette slid the garment down. Baring a nest of russet curls, glistening with her arousal.

The fae paused, holding Miriam close. Her eyes dark agates, alight with passion. “Let me touch you,” Áine said. “Let me love you. Let me show you all the joy you bring my heart, sweet one.” Miriam nodded. “Yes,” she breathed. Áine smiled. One hand ghosted down, whispering across Miriam’s belly. Finding her entrance, fingertips playing there.

Áine watched, her eyes never leaving Miriam’s face. Marveling as the redhead surrendered to her touch. Her face flushed, mouth wide. Breath shallow as she responded. Unraveling beside the fae. Cobalt eyes met Áine’s, wide with need. “Please,” Miriam husked. “Please, Áine.”

Áine brushed a kiss to the redhead’s earlobe. “What is it, love?” she asked. “Take me,” the redhead said. “Make me yours. I… I want you to be my first.” Áine gaped at the redhead. “You’ve never…?” she asked. Miriam blushed, her eyes falling down. “No,” she mumbled. “I wanted you to be the one… you to make love to me. You and no other.”

Áine cupped her lover’s chin, raising it. Meeting her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice low. “Thank you for loving me. For wanting me. For letting me love you, sweet one.” Miriam kissed Áine, her lips tugging at the brunette’s. “That’s all I want,” she whispered. “To be yours. Always.”

Áine returned the kiss, tangling her fingers in waves of cinnamon. They clung together, curves and angles joining, merging. They separated with a gasp, pausing for breath. The brunette moaned, the sound deep, hungry. Her eyes flickered to Miriam’s, dark chocolate molten with desire. “Miriam,” she husked. “I want you so.” The redhead smiled, gentle fingers playing in the fae’s dark hair. “You have me,” Miriam said, her voice soft. “Everything you want, everything you need. It’s all yours, Áine.”

The brunette pounced on Miriam, their lips meeting in a bruising kiss. They fell together, clothes banished to the forest’s floor. Knowing only taste, and touch, and the heat of each other’s skin. Lost in sweet delirium. Where every sigh was music, each melting glance a promise of eternity. Two hearts, irrevocably given, becoming one. Until they lay exhausted. Huddled together, arms and legs tangling. The stars fading overhead, as the dawn turned night cerulean.


	5. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the Twilight Queen. Áine is forced to make a terrible decision.

Áine awoke, arms and legs tangled with Miriam’s. Her breath sweet upon her lips. Áine ran her hands through cinnamon hair pressing as kiss to the crown of her lover’s head. She smiled, a flutter in her chest. A wild joy, rising like music within her.

A voice sounded across the bedchamber. “What have you done, Áine?” the voice said. The fae bolted upright, facing the intruder. A beautiful woman. A fae. Clad in a gown of sapphire, edged in gold. Its collar snowy ermine. Her red hair long, falling in ringlets about her shoulders. A sword of bright steel at her hip. Her eyes challenged Áine, a glitter of sharp emerald.

_Maeve._

Áine stumbled before the woman, falling to her knees. Bare before her sovereign. “Your majesty,” she said, bowing her head. Afraid to look up. Afraid what this would mean. For her. For Miriam.

Maeve, the twilight queen, stood before Áine. The elder fae sighed, shaking her head. “What folly is this, Áine?” she asked. “You’ve taken a mortal to your bed. One hardly more than a child.” Áine trembled, looking up, meeting the queen’s eyes. “I love her,” she said. “With all my heart, all my soul.” The flame-haired queen sighed, folding her arms. “You know this cannot be, Áine,” she said. “You know the peril of love between our kind. Never has it ended well.”

“It can!” Áine protested. “I know it can!” The queen looked down, green eyes searching Áine’s. “Were you her first?” she asked, Áine shrugged, “What has that to do with anything?” Maeve glared at Áine, pinning her to the ground. “Were you?” the queen demanded. 

Áine nodded, her voice silent. A flush of anger raced across Maeve’s face. “You’ve done it, then,” she said. “You’ve marked her, claimed her. Taken her maidenhead and made her yours.”

“No,” protested Áine. “You don’t understand!” Maeve growled, her eyes flashing. “It’s all over her, girl,” she said. “Your touch, your scent, your magic. Woven bone deep.” Áine backed away from the queen. “All I’ve given her is my love, my promise,” she said. Maeve’s eyes grew wide. “Promise?” she asked. Áine looked away, towards her lover. “Yes, to be hers, forever more. To love her, always.”

Maeve looked to the ground, her shoulders sagging. “Do you realize what you’ve done?” she asked, her voice thick. The queen ran her hands through titian hair, sighing. “It changes everything. It’s tied her to you.”

Áine shook her head, pleading. “You don’t understand,” she said. “What we have is real. It’s true. I feel it, in the beat of my heart. I see it, in the light of her eyes. I know, with everything I am, we're meant to be.”

“Are you sure of that, Áine?” Maeve asked. “Would you have her give up her future? Her freedom?” Áine rose to her feet. “Why can’t we go on, the way we are?” she asked, her voice anxious.

Maeve chuckled, her lips curving in a smirk. “Did you think it so easy?” she asked. “That you could live together, in the world of men?” she said. Áine stared at the queen. “Does it matter?” she asked. “I don’t care where we are, as long I have her.”

Maeve sneered. “What, as your possession?” she asked. “No!” cried the brunette. “You’re wrong!” Maeve wheeled towards Áine, virid eyes hinting danger. “Am I?” she asked. “You’ve warped the bond. Turned friendship to desire. It’s made her weak to you. Unable to see aught, but your light.”

Áine eyes widened. She stumbled to the ground, her eyes upon the grass. “No, that’s not possible,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t do that to her. She’s… she’s everything, to me.” Maeve looked on, her anger crumbling. She stood beside the brunette, bending low, a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “Chains are still chains, little one,” she said. “Even be they made of gold.” Áine looked up, stricken, brown eyes tearing. “Have I done that?” she asked. “Does she truly have no choice?” 

Maeve knelt beside the brunette, her face kind. Gentle fingers combing through dark hair. “Would you have her need only you?” she asked. “To give up mortal life, and every dream within it?” The brunette shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice halting. “I wouldn’t.” Maeve sighed. “What can you offer her, Áine?” she asked. “A home, a life, children?"

Áine shook her head, ravaged by grief. She fell into the queen’s arms, sobbing. “But I love her,” she said. “I love her so much.” Maeve cradled the younger fae, holding the brunette close. Rubbing a circle of comfort on her back. “Then let her go,” she whispered.

Áine fell still, wiping her tears away. She met Maeve’s eyes, her face a tapestry of loss. “What do I do?” she asked, her voice choked. Maeve glanced at Miriam, asleep in the warm grass. Her face smiling, aglow in love’s sweet dream. The queen sighed, green eyes shadowed. “She must forget,” she said. “Forget everything. Especially you.” Áine gasped, horrified. “I… I can’t,” she said. “How can you ask me to do that?”

Maeve let out a weary breath. “I’m sorry, Áine, but this must be,” she said. Áine looked at the queen, her eyes pleading. “Why?” she asked. “How can you be so cruel?” Maeve shook her head. “This is the only way,” she said.  “The only way to set her free.”

Áine rose, crossing to Miriam. Kneeling beside her, her eyes glimmering with tears. “What of me?” she asked. “I gave myself to her, with all my heart,” she said. “You know what that means. The binding goes both ways.”

Maeve nodded, her face forlorn. “I know, child,” she said. “I know.” Áine leaned forward, stroking Miriam’s hair, her face desolate. “I’ll never forget. I’ll never be complete without her,” she whispered. “Because everything I love, or ever will, lies with her.”

Maeve walked to Áine, standing beside the broken fae. “It’s time, Áine,” she said. “Say your goodbyes now. Waiting will only make this harder.” Áine nodded, her face pale. She bent over Miriam, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow.

The redhead stirred. A slow smile warming her face as she gazed upon her lover. “Áine,” she whispered. “Good morning, love.” Miriam captured the brunette’s lips with her own. Her eyes focused, seeing tears upon the older woman’s face. She sat up, alarmed. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?” she asked.

The fae stuttered, her voice thick. “Miriam, I… I have to…” A voice broke in. Musical, commanding. “She cannot stay here,” it said. Miriam’s eyes flickered up, seeing a woman behind her love. Tall, regal, eyes full of pity. Red hair like wine cascading down her shoulders. Miriam grasped Áine’s hand, uneasy. “Who… who is this, Áine?” she asked.

The brunette looked away, unable to meet the younger woman’s eyes. Miriam stared at the fae, bewildered. “Talk to me, Áine,” she said. “What’s wrong?” The brunette shook her head, her voice frail. “I … I have to go,” she said. “My people, they… they’ve called me away.” The redhead’s eyes widened. “Why?” she asked. “What happened?”

The brunette leaned in, craving her lover’s warmth. “I can’t say,” she said. “Please, Miriam, I…” Miriam’s hands rose to Áine’s face, cradling it in her hands. Their eyes met. “Whatever it is, we can fix it,” she said. “As long as we’re together, I know we’ll be alright. Please, Áine, don’t go.”

Áine sobbed, pulling the redhead close. Kissing her. Drinking in her taste. Savoring it upon her lips. Clutching Miriam to her, fingers weaving through cinnamon hair. Breathing in its fragrance, one last time.

The brunette pulled away, dark eyes lambent. Memorizing each feature of her beloved’s face. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you Miriam. Though memory fail, and all else fade, know that I love you. Know that I’m yours, only yours, my darling. Forever.” Áine smoothed one hand across the redhead’s brow. A sorrow, ocean-deep, behind her eyes.

_Forgive me_

“Forget,” the fae said, her fingers limned in silver light. Miriam’s eyes widened, her mouth open in protest. Her head lolled to one side, as she fell unconscious.

Áine knelt, the redhead cradled in her arms. The grass beneath her cold. “I’m sorry,” she husked. “So sorry. But all dreams end, even this.” She shook her head, fingers tracing her beloved’s face. She bent down, brushing her lips across the sleeping girl’s, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

“Goodbye, my love,” she said.


	6. Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Áine takes desperate action to win back her love.

The brunette stood silent, clad in inky silk, the breeze stirring her hair. Her eyes upon a figure sitting, alone upon a rough wooden bench. A woman, cinnamon hair shot through with silver. The Shakespeare Garden was silent, visitors gone as evening shadows lengthened. The scent of columbine, primrose, and lark’s heel fragrant in the air. The woman smiled, chocolate eyes warming, as they lingered on the redhead. Upon her face, relaxed for a moment, in the garden’s seclusion. Laying aside the brittle mask she wore so often.

_Miriam._

_Miranda, now._

Áine shook her head. Years had passed. Rushing by, like a springtime river’s tumult. Yet still, she came. Still she watched. Still she…

_Loved._

The fae shrugged. The bond held true. Her feelings had not changed. Would not change.

_Ever._

Áine stepped closer, her heart clenching in her chest. Fingers itching to touch alabaster skin. To run through the cinnamon mane, so well-remembered. She couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help her feelings. The need that ran rampant within. For _her_. For this woman, sitting alone in a dark Manhattan park. So far from the East End, from London. From their evening encounters, so long ago.

_I miss you. I miss you so much._

The brunette sighed. Looking down at her dark raiment. Sable and silver, a dress of mourning. So apt to what she had become. The golden light of autumn had faded, to cold winter. It’s icy fingers never far from her heart. Except for this, for these stolen moments. Slipping away, to gaze upon the face of something lost. Something precious, fallen from her grasp.

_I’d do anything. Anything, to have her back._

Áine took a deep breath, shame flushing her cheeks. It wasn’t fair to think like that. It wasn’t right. She’d…she’d given Miriam up years ago. To set her free. Free to find her own way, her own path…

_Had it been the right decision?_

The fae didn’t know anymore. Didn’t care. She looked upon her love’s face, and saw a stranger. Miranda Priestly, the ice queen. Sovereign of a kingdom called Runway. Her beauty, like a lily, wrought of frost. So bright, so fair, and yet so cold.

“So alone,” the brunette breathed. Like now. Staring into the dark, silent. Some distant memory kindled in cobalt eyes.

_It hurts. It hurts, seeing her like this._

“This is my fault,” the brunette whispered. “All my fault.”

The redhead spoke, the sound startling Áine from her thoughts. “I remember dancing,” she said. “The stars so bright above. And music, holding me up, as though I could fly, as we danced, so close.” Miranda paused, her voice wet with tears. “It seemed so real,” she whispered. “And all I wanted was one more minute in her arms.” The editor shook her head. “Why can’t I remember her name, her face?” she asked, her voice plaintive. “Why does a dream make my heart ache so? And why has it never left me?”

Áine stumbled, her eyes widening. Torn by the other woman’s pain. “How can this be?” she gasped. “She remembers. She remembers, and it hurts…”

_I’m still hurting her._

The fae stepped forward, hands outstretched, aching to touch. To hold, to comfort. “I’m sorry,” the brunette said, her voice a broken sob. “So sorry, my love.” She lowered her face, tears welling in her eyes. “Goddess, what have I done? What have I done?”

She turned, willing herself away. Fleeing the sight before her. A cry of pain, of regret, tearing from her lips.

Miranda sat upon the bench, the evening breeze chill upon her skin. She shook her head. Why did she still come here, to this place? This quiet plot, the fragrance of its blooms so redolent of home, of England?

“Why a garden? Why is that important?” she wondered. “Is… is it the dreams?”

The dreams. Haunting, evanescent, teasing the edge of her consciousness. Always the same. Of one person.

“Who is she?” Miranda whispered. The woman in her dreams, faceless, who stirred such desire, such delight within her? An enigma, eluding memory’s grasp. Fading, like moonbeams and shadows, each time Miranda woke.

“Why does she seem so familiar?” she wondered. “Like I’d forgotten something, something so important. Lost something, dearer than my soul.”

Miranda shook her head. Romance. Love. She’d put those things behind her. Crushed them down. Bent them to her will, in her rise to the top. Feelings were a luxury, a weakness she could ill afford. A vulnerability her enemies would exploit.

And yet… the dreams, the dreams remained.

“I feel her arms around me, each night,” she whispered. “The touch of her skin, the scent of her hair, so warm. Like coming home. And I never want it to end…” The redhead bowed her head, grief shadowing her eyes. “Am I wrong to feel this way? To be like this, over a dream?”

Miranda looked up, arms wrapped around herself in the evening chill. She stared up, into the obsidian sky, one light shining overhead. Piercing the veil of bough and branch. Polaris, the north star, night’s bright herald.

Words tumbled from Miranda’s lips, pleading, fervent. A wish, a prayer, from her very heart.  “Let me find her,” she said, tears standing in her eyes. “Let me love her. No matter how long it takes. Please. All I know is that I miss her. I need her. Even though I don’t know her name…”

* * *

Áine knelt, her hands fisting in the earth beneath her. The North Woods of the park lay silent. Tall ironwoods scattered about, their silver bark gray in the moon’s light. “What have I done?” she whispered. “I left her side, I left my heart, for what?” The fae shook her head, despairing. “I look into her eyes and see no freedom, no joy, no spark of love,” she said. “Only emptiness. A yearning for something she cannot recall.”

_Like I ache for her_

The air shimmered behind Áine, leaves scattering in its wake. Silver light coalescing into the form of a woman. Titian hair bound by a platinum circlet, a moonstone at its center. Clad in a robe of indigo.

The twilight queen sighed.

_Oh, Áine…_

The brunette lay crumpled on the ground. Her face haggard, wet with tears. A gown of silk, argent and jet, over her gaunt frame.

_Time has not been kind to her._

_Nor have I._

“Áine,” the redhead called. “Your majesty,” the brunette replied, scrubbing the tears from her eyes. “I can explain…”

Maeve held up one hand. “It’s alright, Áine. Tell me,” she said. The brunette rose to her knees. “I had to see her,” Áine said, her voice frail. “Had to be near her. It’s been so long, so very long. I… I can’t stay away. I can’t!” The queen nodded, her voice gentle. “I know,” she said. “I know how you’ve tried. How you’ve struggled.”

The brunette shuddered, clutching at her breast. “Please, don’t send me away,” she said. “Please. I… I can’t bear it, anymore.”

“I won’t,” Maeve said, kneeling beside the trembling brunette. “I shouldn’t have, before.”  Áine looked up, meeting the older woman’s eyes. Understanding and sorrow in their viridian depths. “I need her. I need her, so much,” the young fae said.

“What would you have me do, child?” Maeve said. She pulled Áine close. The brunette leaned in, her head falling to the queen’s shoulder.

“Help me,” Áine pleaded. “Help me, please. I would rather end now, this moment, than be without her another day.”

Maeve paused, verdant eyes falling to the ground, deep in thought. She spoke, her voice slow, tinged with doubt. “There may be a way,” the queen said. “But no surety lies with it. It is but the barest of chances. You may try, and yet still fail.”

“I don’t care!” cried Áine. “I’ll do anything, take any chance, if I can be with her again.”

The queen paused. She lifted the brunette’s chin with one hand, gentle fingers brushing her cheek. “Very well,” she said. “You recall why we took Miriam’s memories, Áine?” The younger fae nodded. “Love between mortalkind and fae is dangerous,” she mumbled, her tone dark.

“Yes,” Maeve replied. “But… what if you weren’t?” Áine frowned, a question on her face. “Weren’t what?” The queen locked eyes with the brunette. “Weren’t fae,” she replied. Áine gaped, understanding dawning on her face. “You mean…?” she asked, eyes wide.

The queen leaned closer, her voice low. “What if you were mortal?” she asked. The brunette grasped Maeve’s hand, her eyes flaring with excitement. “We could be together,” she breathed. The redhead nodded. “At least you’d have a chance,” she said. “To find each other, and fall in love again.”

Áine bit her lower lip, her expression nervous. “How would it work?” she asked.

Maeve rose to her feet. She walked away, clothed in evening shadow, eyes lifting to the starlit sky. Her voice rang deep, resonating through the clearing. “There is a spell. Old magic, as old as stock and stone itself,” she said. “You'd be released. Your spirit reborn, as a mortal child. Without the memories of your life now, as Áine.”

The brunette shook her head, frustrated. “How does that help?” she asked. “I wouldn’t remember her. How could I find her?” The queen turned towards Áine. She smiled, her eyes warm. “Look to your love for the answer,” she said. “Memories may fade, but the heart remains constant. She loves you even now, without a name to call you.”

Áine took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. She stepped back. “I’ll… I’ll do it,” she said. Maeve’s eyes flickered over the brunette, her voice soft. “You’re sure of this, Áine?” she asked. “Once done, there is no turning back. A mortal you will remain, sundered from us. Doomed to live your span of years, then die.”

The brunette nodded. “I understand,” she said. “Whatever years are mine, I want with her. No matter the cost.” Maeve crossed to the younger fae, embracing her. She pressed a kiss to Áine’s forehead. “Brave child,” she whispered. “I will miss you.”

The brunette burrowed her face into the queen’s hair, clinging to her. “Thank you,” she husked. “Thank you for helping me.”

Maeve released the brunette, cupping her cheek. “Live, in love and joy, dear one,” Maeve said, her voice thick with emotion. “That’s all the thanks I need.” Áine smiled, tears bright in her eyes. “I will,” she said. “I’ll try, with everything I am.”

Maeve nodded, a fond expression on her face. “Then I am content,” she said. Áine looked at the queen, unsure. “What do I do?” she asked. The redhead pointed to the center of the clearing. “Stand before me, and clear your mind of worry. Of every fear and doubt,” she commanded. Áine backed away, doing as she asked.

The queen gazed into Áine’s eyes, her expression tinged with sadness. “Are you ready?” she asked. Áine nodded. “Yes,” she said.

Maeve began to sing. A song of power, whispering through the grass, fluttering through blossom and leaf. The notes falling from her lips, soaring high, then cascading low. She moved, circling Áine, in an intricate dance. Her hair a mane of fire about her shoulders. Weaving magic through earth and stone, root and branch, the air itself. Winding it around Áine’s form, clothing her in light. Golden, like sunshine, and laughter, and love’s first kiss. Sinking deep, becoming part of her. Alloying with her very soul. The young fae’s body began to fade, her eyes like stars within a shining nebula.

Áine spoke. Her voice soft, a whisper, as the aureate light died. “Where will I go?” she asked. Maeve smiled, jade eyes full of tears, as the clearing grew dark. “Home,” she said.

“To Ohio.”


	7. Runway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy Sachs comes to Runway.

Andy Sachs walked up from the Rockefeller Center subway station, to 6th Avenue. She rummaged in her purse, looking at the scrap of paper with address for Elias-Clarke on it. “Runway Magazine,” she said. “1221 6th Avenue and West 49th Street.” She spied the building ahead, sleek glass and steel, rising high above the city streets.

Andy checked her clothes, nodding with satisfaction at the simple, casual outfit. A tan camel hair blazer, with brown leather buttons. A lilac V-neck sweater over a white oxford shirt. Black wool slacks, with matching 3-inch pumps. A black Victoria’s Secret bra and panty set, with matching stockings, beneath it all. Good enough for a job interview.

Andy walked to the front door of the building, pushing it open. Seeing the front desk, she strode forward, a wide smile on her face. “Hi,” she said, looking at a middle-aged security guard. “I’m Andy, um, Andrea Sachs. I have an interview here today with Runway magazine. I have an appointment with Emily Charlton.” The guard chuckled, looking at his partner. “Oh, another assistant interview for Ms. Priestly,” he said. “Better you than me, kid.”

The man pulled took a security pass from the desk. “Here,” he said. “Take this and head upstairs.” Andy frowned. “What floor?” she asked. The guard’s eyes flicked across the room. He smiled. “Serena!” he called. “I’ve got a new one for upstairs. Can you take her to Runway?” A tall, willowy blonde with blue eyes approached. Clad in a black Donna Karan sheath dress, matching Prada pumps on her feet. She smiled, greeting Andy. “Hello,” she said, betraying a light Brazilian accent. “Are you interviewing with Emily?”

Andy nodded, feeling underdressed. “Yes,” she replied. “I’m Andrea Sachs,” she stuttered. “But everyone calls me Andy.” The blonde nodded. “Are you a student intern?” she asked. Andy shook her head. “No, I’m here for the assistant job,” she said.

Serena stopped, staring at Andy, looking her up and down. “You do know what kind of magazine Runway is, don’t you?” she asked. Andy shrugged. “It’s about clothes, right?” she answered, grinning. “The ad said there were two openings, one at Auto Universe, the other at Runway. I’m not so good with cars, so, here I am!” Serena sighed. “Since Miranda’s busy today, it won’t matter,” she said. “We’d better get upstairs. Follow me.”

Andy trailed after the blonde, entering the elevator. It closed, the car rising quickly. The doors opened, revealing a large space with white granite floors. The furniture expensive, in black and white leather. They walked past reception, further into the space. A large office appeared ahead, two wooden desks of maple flanking its doors of frosted glass.

A woman in a crimson Alexander McQueen sheath sat at one of the desks. She rose, her red hair shoulder length, blue eyes fixed on Andy. She stared at Serena. “What is she wearing?” she asked, a lilting British accent on her lips. “Human resources trying to play a joke?” She sighed, shaking her head. Andy approached the redhead. “Uh, hi,” she said. “I’m Andy Sachs. I’m here about the assistant’s job?”

“Fine,” replied Emily. “I’m one of Miranda’s assistants. Her first assistant got promoted, so I’m first now.” Andy nodded. “You need a replacement for the second spot,” she said. Emily’s eyes appraised the brunette. “Yes,” she said. “But it hasn’t been easy. Miranda sacked the last two girls after a few days. I need to find someone better.” Andy smiled, her stomach in knots, meeting the redhead’s eyes. “Who’s Miranda?” she asked.

Emily gaped at her, shocked. “Who is she?” she gasped. “She’s a legend, that’s what. The editor in chief of this magazine. A million girls would kill for this opportunity.” Andy smiled. “Well, I’m glad I got the interview, then,” she said.

Emily paused, eyeing Andy. “Andrea,” she said. “You do realize this is a _fashion_ magazine, correct?” The other woman pouted. “Hey!” Andy said. “What are you saying?” The redhead smirked. “Most people who apply have an interest in it,” she said. Andy glared at the Briton. “Who says I don’t?” she huffed. Emily gestured at the brunette’s clothes. “On this floor, or the whole building?” she quipped.

Emily’s blackberry rang. The redhead picked it up, staring at the display in horror. “Oh, no,” she said. “She’s here already?” Andy looked at the redhead, curious. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

Emily waved Andy away. “You have to leave, now,” she said, her eyes meeting the brunette’s. She shook her head, frustrated. “No, that won’t work. Sit down and be quiet, Andrea.” She pointed to a black leather couch against the wall. “Why are you doing this?” the brunette protested. Emily marched Andy to the sofa, pushing her down. “Miranda’s coming,” she hissed. “Now pretend you’re not here!”

The elevator chimed, the sound of doors sliding open in the foyer. A woman walked in, tossing a black ermine coat at Emily. Her argent hair in an elegant bob. Wearing a plum Valentino knit dress, with dark Louboutin pumps. Andy stared, entranced, a strange ache in her chest.

_She’s beautiful._

Emily snatched a memo pad and pen from her desk. “Good morning, Miranda,” she said. Miranda paused, nodding towards the couch. “Who is that?” she asked, peering at Andy. “Someone who applied for the assistant job,” replied Emily. “I was just getting started with her.” Miranda looked over at the brunette. “Never mind,” the editor said. “I’ll do the interview. The last two girls were abysmal. This one might be better.” Miranda stalked into the office, leaving Emily and Andrea behind. The redhead waved Andy to the office door. “Go,” she said. “She wants to talk to you.”

Andy stepped into the office. The walls were white, stark. Photos and framed prints lined the walls. Miranda sat in a black leather chair, behind a plate glass desk. Polishing a pair of reading glasses with a small white cloth. She looked at the brunette, arching one eyebrow. “Tell me about yourself,” she said. Andy hesitated, her eyes falling to the carpet. Miranda waited, her eyes locked on the younger woman.

Andy let out a deep breath. “Hi… my name is Andy, uh, Andrea Sachs. I came about the job,” she said. “I gathered that,” said Miranda, her voice dry. Andy nodded, raising her eyes to meet the editor’s. Meeting them. Falling into twin cobalt pools. Her mouth open, stunned into silence.

_Why is this so familiar?_

_This feeling, between joy and sadness?_

_Like something lost, and half-remembered?_

Miranda put on the glasses, glancing at the resume for a moment. “Do you know what this job is?” she said, peering over the frames.

Andy laughed, nervous. “Well, I came to New York to be a writer,” she said. “I sent out my resume, and Elias-Clarke answered. They said my choices were Runway or Auto Universe.” Miranda smirked, pinning the brunette with her eyes. “I don’t believe the choice is yours, Andrea.” Andy shivered inside, a warm feeling clenching in her belly at Miranda’s voice. The silky drawl of Ahn-drey-ah, falling from the editor’s lips. “Yes, of course, you’re right,” she said.

The editor appraised Andy. Her hair, her clothes, the dark chocolate eyes full of worry. “You’ve never read Runway before?” she asked. Andy shook her head. “No,” she said. “I don’t know much about fashion and… stuff. But I’d like to learn.”

Miranda wrinkled her nose. “You don’t know what to wear, and have no sense of style,” she said. The brunette protested. “Wait a minute,” she said. “That’s a matter of…” Miranda shook her head. “That’s a fact, not an opinion,” she said. Andy shook her head, exasperated. “But I…” she started. Miranda held up her hand, stopping her. “That’s all,” she said. She cut her eyes to the door, dismissing the younger woman.

Andy fell silent. She retreated, heading towards the door. Stopping at the doorframe. She leaned against it a moment, then turned. Her eyes aglow with inner heat. “Okay, I know I don’t belong here. That I don’t fit in,” she said. “I’m not thin, or stylish, and I’ve got lousy fashion sense. But I’m smart, a fast learner, and I’d work hard…”

Miranda stared at the brunette, a strange look on her face. Andy slumped, deflating, her eyes downcast. “Anyway,” she said. “Thanks for your time.” Andy left, heading towards the exit. Brushing by a tall woman in a green silk Saint Laurent minidress.

The woman paused at the doorway, glancing at Miranda. She smirked, jade eyes sparkling, titian hair falling about her shoulders in waves. “You getting careless,” she said. “Throwing away beautiful women like that.” Miranda looked away. “Her?” she said, her voice rough. “She’s a child. She doesn’t know the first thing about fashion.”

The redhead chuckled. “Exactly what you need!” she said. “You already have one Emily, god knows you don’t need another!” Miranda shook her head. “Why do I find you remotely interesting to talk to, Maeve?” she asked. The redhead grinned.  “Because if it wasn’t for me and Nigel, you wouldn’t talk to anyone!” she snarked. Miranda rolled her eyes. “This is what I get for mucking about with a model,” she said, in mock annoyance. Maeve shrugged. “There’s something about that dark hair, and those big, brown eyes,” she teased. “You couldn’t take your eyes off her.” Miranda scoffed. “So, what do you think I should do?” she said. “Go ahead, take a chance? Hire the smart, fat girl?”

Maeve cocked her head at the editor, her lips quirking in a grin. “Why not?” she said. “She’s not fat, anyway. She’s smaller than the both of us.” Miranda’s eyes gleamed. “How _do_ you still get work?” she asked, her voice sickly-sweet.

Maeve laughed.  Her hands traced down her body, from breast to hips. “Miranda,” she tutted, “Some women have _curves_. This body wasn’t meant to starve on kale and cheese cubes.” Miranda paused. She looked at the redhead, her eyes curious. “You mean it, don’t you?” she asked. “You think I should hire her?” Maeve winked. “You already know the answer to that,” she said. “And you’ve decided what to do.”

* * *

Andy dashed to the bathroom, locking herself inside the last stall. Frustrated tears fell from her eyes. “Why do I feel this way?” she whispered. “Like I’ve lost something, something so dear. More than just a stupid job.” She shook her head, roughly brushing the tears away with her sleeve. “God, why did I wear this outfit?” she wondered. “Serena thought I was a student.  Miranda barely looked at me.”

_But what will I do now?_

Andy opened the stall door, a wadded piece of toilet paper in her hand, dabbing at her nose. She walked to the sinks, checking herself in the mirror. Her mascara was all right, luckily. Reaching into her purse, she fixed her lipstick, checking herself in the mirror.

_At least I won’t see Miranda on the way down._

Nodding to herself, she took a deep breath, and exited the bathroom. Heading towards the bank of stainless elevators down the hall. Hopping onto the first open car, she pressed the “L” button. The door closed, with a whisper. Andy felt the familiar flip-flop in her stomach as elevator headed down.

Andy walked into the lobby, her eyes on the floor. A gentle voice sounded. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” the voice said. “You’re much too pretty to frown so.” Andy raised her eyes, looking at the owner of the voice.

A woman stood before her, titian hair falling in loose waves about her shoulders. Green eyes sparkling, a gentle smile upon her face. Tall, with long, graceful legs, and generous curves. “Hi,” she said, the faint burr of an accent on her lips. “You look like you’re having as good a day as I am.” The redhead grinned. “I’m Maeve Fahey,” she said. “I was here for a photo shoot, but we didn’t get much work done. Miranda didn’t like, well, anything.”

Andy shook her head. “I’m Andy,” she said. “Andy Sachs. “I just finished the shortest job interview in history.” The redhead raised an eyebrow. “Did she say no?” she asked. Andy shrugged. “Not exactly,” she said. “But I get the feeling she didn’t have to.” Maeve shrugged. “Don’t give up hope yet,” she said, her eyes warm. “You might get lucky.” A voice sounded behind them. “Andrea!” Emily called. Her hair wild, arms stretched out to stop the brunette. “Wait,” she said. “Miranda sent me to get you. You’ve got the job. She wants you to take it.”

Maeve laughed, her smile wide. “See, you worried for nothing,” she said. “Thanks,” said Andy, heaving a sigh of relief. Her eyes widened. She looked at the model, nervous. “Now I have work under her.” Maeve winked at the brunette. “There are worse positions,” she smirked. “Think of the wonderful view, hmm? Miranda, in those 5-inch heels that make her legs look so…” Andy blushed, her cheeks hot. Her thoughts full of the lovely editor. Maeve smiled, waving one hand, heading towards the door. Emily tugged Andy towards the elevator. Maeve turned, looking at the brunette, a fond look on her face.

_Here's your chance my Áine, just as I promised._

* * *

Miranda sat at her desk, thinking about the interview. About the girl, Andrea. “Why did I change my mind?” she whispered. She shook her head. “Maeve and her bloody meddling.”

_Take a chance on the smart, fat girl._

She hadn’t meant those words. Far from it. There was something about her. Something different. Something familiar. Miranda couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was there. Something about the brunette that made her stop, and take another look.

It didn’t hurt that the girl was beautiful, even in those hideous clothes. Her hidden curves, and long auburn hair. Those eyes, full of innocence one moment, and fire the next. Miranda couldn’t wait to see what Nigel would make of her. To see that beauty flower in the months ahead.

_Flowers_

She’d take a walk in the park tonight. It had been a while, since she’d gone to the Shakespeare Garden. It was so beautiful there, this time of year.

Strange, how that thought made her feel. Full of sudden hope. Like something she’d been waiting for, so patiently, was finally here. Like springtime, come at last. Miranda smiled, looking out her window. Thinking of flowers, and gardens, and dark, sparkling eyes.

 

 


	8. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris is the city of lovers.

Andy Sachs paced her bedroom in the Hôtel Plaza Athénée. Something wasn’t right. Miranda seemed distant, subdued. She’d closed the door to her suite, allowing Andy the evening off. Making a waspish comment about Christian Thompson, and his dubious charms. The editor’s eyes shadowed. Vacant. The woman behind them tired, defeated. Broken, from some quiet hurt that pierced the soul.

Andy stared at the closed door.

_I won’t let her be alone._

Andy looked in the mirror before her, surveying the dress she wore. A black Carolina Herrera sheath dress, with white polka dots. Beneath, a black lace Lise Charmel bra and thong, with matching garter belt and stockings. A pair of black Louboutin pumps, with 4-inch stiletto heels, on her feet. Andy tossed her auburn hair, liking the new length. Its shine.  Tumbling down her shoulders, curling in lustrous waves. She smiled, chocolate eyes dancing.

All this effort was not for Christian. Or any other man. The one Andy wished to please, to dazzle, was someone quite different. The woman scant feet away, in the next room.

_Miranda._

_The woman she’d given her heart to._

She remembered when she knew. Knew it was love. Behind the townhouse, in Miranda’s garden. The Book long since delivered. Harebell and honeysuckle sweet in the air. Sitting close, sharing the silence. Miranda’s fingertips tracing a slow circle atop Andy’s hand.

_I know she feels something for me, I know it!_

Andy stood before the door separating the rooms. She reached out for the doorknob, turning it, feeling the cold bronze beneath her fingers. She opened the door.

The room beyond lay dark, clothed in shadows. Miranda sat, alone, in a gray Versace bathrobe. Sitting on a cream-colored loveseat, illumined by the lamp beside her. Clutching a fax in one hand. Her eyes hollow, lost. Straying to a vase of white lilies before her, on a small table. A glass of scotch beside it, untouched. “What will the girls think?” she whispered, her voice anguished.

Andy stepped into the small circle of light. “Miranda,” she said, her voice soft. The editor’s eyes swiveled up, their cobalt light hard. “Andrea,” she said. “What are you doing here?” Andy knelt on the floor before Miranda, her eyes perusing the editor’s face. “I … I had to come,” the brunette said.

Miranda sneered. “I thought you’d be having a night out,” she said. “With the charming Mr. Thompson.” She looked at Andy, her eyes bleak. “Don’t trust him,” she said. “He’ll want to have you, own you. Men like him always do.”

Andy reached one hand up, taking Miranda’s. “I don’t want him, Miranda,” she said. Miranda looked at their joined hands, moving the pad of her thumb over Andy’s. “You don’t?” she breathed, her voice hushed. “No, I don’t,” answered Andy. A long moment passed, something unspoken passing between their eyes. 

“Why are you here, Andrea?” queried the editor. “I had to be,” Andy answered. “I couldn’t stay away. I needed to be here, beside you. In any way you’d let me.” The editor frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked. The brunette bit her lower lip. “You seemed… so distracted, so upset, like something was terribly wrong,” she said. “I couldn’t leave you alone.”

An elegant eyebrow raised. “Still observant, I see,” Miranda said. “You’re good at that, aren’t you? Looking, watching. Seeing things you shouldn’t.” Andy shook her head. “Only when it’s you,” she said. “Because I…” The editor leaned close, eyes sharp with interest. “Because you what?” she asked. Andy looked away. “Because I care,” she said, a tremor in her voice. “I care about you, Miranda. Please, tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what I can do...”

Cobalt eyes narrowed. “Your job,” the editor said, her words an icy dagger. “Do your job.”

Andy staggered to her feet, reeling, as if struck. She looked down, her fists clenched. Trembling, dark hair veiling her face. She shook her head, jerking it up. Chocolate eyes defiant, glaring at the editor. “No, I won’t leave you. Not like this,” she said. “Not for anything in the world.”

Miranda’s rose from the loveseat, her face glacial. “Do you think you can help with this?” she asked, holding up the fax. “Stephen was kind enough to send it to me,” She threw the papers aside, letting them flutter to the ground. “Divorce papers,” the editor said. “He expects me to sign them. After making a fool of me with that secretary of his.” She smiled, her eyes a bitter flame. “He’ll find he’s made a costly mistake.”

Miranda walked to the window, gazing out across the Paris skyline. Upon the city lights, shining in the distance. White and gold, blue and amber. Spread out, like diamonds on a velvet tapestry. “Another divorce, another marriage, over,” she said. Her voice small, melancholy. “You know what the papers will say about it. About me. That I’m impossible. That I’m frigid. That I drove another man away, like all the rest.”

Andy followed the editor, looking over her shoulder. “That’s not true,” she protested. “It’s not fair!”

Miranda turned, looking at her assistant, eyes hard. “Truth doesn’t sell newspapers, Andrea,” she said. “But scandal? That always does the trick.” She sighed, shoulders shrugging. “I don’t care what they say about me,” she said. “Not really. But the girls... it’s so unfair to them. To go through this. To be disappointed, yet again…”

Andy shook her head, dark eyes pleading. “Please, Miranda,” she said. “Please, tell me how I can help. I’ll… I’ll do anything.” Her eyes dropped, a blush suffusing her face.

A smirk flitted across Miranda’s lips. “Anything?” she asked, her voice silky. Her eyes fixed on the brunette’s lips, the delicate pink adorning her cheeks. A sudden warmth coiling in her belly. “Do you know what you’re saying, Andrea? What you’re offering?”

The brunette nodded. Her eyes soft, vulnerable. “Yes, I do,” she said. The brunette paused, moistening her lips.

Miranda stared at the brunette. An expression, almost tender, on her face. A smooth mask snapped into place, her eyes distant. “I don’t need help,” she said. “And I don’t need you.” She stepped forward, one hand cupping Andy’s chin. Her thumb grazing the brunette’s lower lip, in a soft caress.

“You’re fired,” she said.

Andy recoiled, her eyes widening. She trembled, as in a sudden chill. “Please, Miranda, please don’t send me away,” she said. Her voice low, raw. “I… I couldn’t bear it. Please, don’t do this to me…”

Miranda glared at the brunette. “Why?” she said. “You’ve seen what I’m like, how I treat people. How I push them away, no matter how hard they try. Even you, Andrea. So, why? Why do you care?”

Andy surged forward, hands tangling in snowy hair. Tears falling, unchecked, from her eyes. “Because I love you,” she said. “I love you, Miranda.”

Andy leaned close, capturing the editor’s lips. Miranda froze, motionless. Hanging upon the kiss, her eyes shut.

And everything changed.

A familiar warmth swelled in Miranda’s breast, struggling to be free. Its chains, past their limit, breaking. It spread, exploding outwards. A fiery nova, filling her with light. Revealing rooms long dark, sealed shut. A storehouse of memories, their treasure bright within. Each word, each touch, each hidden moment glowing, a panoply of stars.

The heat grew, rippling through Miranda, exposing every nerve within. Leaving them raw, thrumming with desire. Until all she could feel was Andrea. Her breath, like sunlight, warm upon her skin. Her hands, so insistent, pulling her close. 

Andy held the editor, fingers winding through her hair. Lips and tongue eager, tracing the seam of her mouth. Miranda moaned, letting the brunette in. Glorying in her kiss. Tasting of truth, tasting of love. Of something broken, newly whole.

_How could I forget this? My home, my very heart?_

Cobalt eyes fluttered open, meeting chocolate.

_Áine_

_Andy_

Miranda staggered backwards, overcome. “You’re here,” she whispered. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

The brunette nodded. “I had to come back,” she said, a soft smile upon her face. “I promised, didn’t I? To always be there when you need me.”

Miranda gaped at the younger woman. Tears of joy, of impossible reunion streaming down her face. “I missed you, I missed you so much,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Andy said, her voice soft. “I’m sorry it took so long. So long to understand. I never should have left.”

Miranda launched herself into the brunette’s arms. “You’re here, here with me now,” she said. “That’s all that matters.” She pressed a gentle kiss to Andy’s lips. “I love you,” she said. “I love you so much. My Áine, my Andy. Whatever name or face you wear. Always.”

They smiled, aglow with adoration. Wrapped tight within each other’s arms. Breathing a gentle sigh, like some soft prayer of gratitude. Their lips touched, electric. Kisses deepening as the world fell away. Filled with promise, filled with hope. Of days and years stretching on into eternity.

Together.


End file.
